


Fake it 'till you make it (Working Title)

by Strewth



Category: Steven Universe (Cartoon)
Genre: Alien Abduction, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-04
Updated: 2020-09-28
Packaged: 2021-03-04 18:41:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 13,870
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25061050
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Strewth/pseuds/Strewth
Summary: Right after the events of 'I Am My Mom' (S4:E25), the human population of Beach City (and Onion) awake to find themselves inside what appears to be a Gem facility of some kind, with no knowledge of how they arrived. Not knowing where they are or why they were brought there, and without the powerful aid of the Crystal Gems, the close-knit human community will need to find ways to survive and make their way home.
Comments: 17
Kudos: 25





	1. Where did we go?

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first chapter of my first fic on AO3, but not my first fic of all. I haven't written fanfic in a couple of decades, but some of the SU works here inspired me to put finger to keyboard again.
> 
> The motivation behind this story was to have an excuse to explore some of the side characters in Steven Universe a bit more. Rebecca Sugar and her team created a rich, inter-connected cast, but the nature of the show meant they were often necessarily sidelined. I wanted to see what I could do to showcase them in the absence of the primary cast. This is something of an experiment.
> 
> As of this post there are a number of chapters already on page and edited, though the story is not yet concluded. My hope is that releasing my stockpile on a regular basis will give me a bit of added incentive to write further chapters on a more regular schedule.

Something sharp dug into Greg Universe's hip, the discomfort dragging him out of a deep unconsciousness that felt somehow less restful than being asleep.

As his gradually-clearing mind realized the sharp object was his keyring, questions began to form in Greg's thoughts. Why hadn't he taken his keys out of his pocket before falling asleep? Why could he hear Barb and Fryman making similar pained waking noises? And why did it feel like he was sleeping on a sheet of glass?

Diffuse lavender light crept under his eyelids, gummy from sleep, and along with it crept a growing sense of unease. Where was that light coming from? Why couldn't he hear the sea?

“Greg, what is going on? Is this a Gem thing?” Priyanka Maheswaran's voice was steady and even, but Greg could tell it was the deliberate, professional calm of a doctor in a crisis. 

Adrenaline rising, Greg dragged his protesting middle-aged body to sandal-clad feet. White tank top and ragged jeans itchy with slept-in sweat, he hastily scrubbed his eyes open.

“Oh no. Oh no no no no.”

Unmarked lavender surfaces defined a level corridor, hexagonal in cross-section and lit with a soft light with no identifiable source. It was the same architecture as the station that held the human zoo he'd been thrown in a while ago.

“Greg?” Even years of emergency medicine experience couldn't keep a hint of quaver from Priyanka's voice.

“Yes, it's. . . it's a Gem thing.”

As far as either of them could see down the corridor in either direction, citizens of Beach City were groggily waking up and looking around in concern and confusion. 

An agitated hubbub grew and started to echo along the smooth walls of the place as people woke up down forks and turns in the corridor Greg couldn't see to. Just how many people were here? And where WAS 'here'?

The last thing Greg recalled was that he had been delivering Priyanka's daughter, Connie, to her parents after a long day picking through millennia-old spaceship ruins. Greg and the girl had been helping the ageless alien women who called themselves the Crystal Gems find parts to rebuild a space ship, in order to pursue alien Gem bounty hunters who had taken Greg's half-alien son Steven away. Leaving the tireless Gems to the work, the two humans had just used a magic whistle to teleport into the beach house Greg had built, and were headed for the parking lot of the doughnut shop up the beach. . .

“Man, that sounds crazier when I lay it out to myself,” Greg half-laughed, running a hand through what was left of his hair.

While the tension among the townspeople was high, for now it seemed to be holding off from outright panic. Part of that was probably because nothing was jumping out at them—it was hard to be too scared of a plain wall, even if it was the colour of dilute fruit punch—but another large part was that a number of well-known Beach City people seemed to be actively working to calm the crowd. Greg found Connie a short distance away with her father, Doug, who was using his security guard training to keep order. Priyanka gave them both hugs, and started asking around for any injured.

Tensions lowered again when two very familiar sounds began to echo off the corridor walls. 

Down one hall, crossing through at a junction, Greg could see Mayor Bill Dewey, flanked by his usual two bodyguards. Dewey was shaking hands and squeezing shoulders, passing out reassurances that he would 'get to the bottom of this' and 'Vote for Dewey' stickers in equal measure.

In the other direction, the unmistakable sound of Fryman's older son Ronaldo on an obsession bender were accompanied by frustrated voices as Beach City's self-styled paranormal expert shouted in wonder at every identical stretch of wall, pushing past people to take photographs.

As things stabilized, Greg found a group of good friends, the Beach City boardwalk business owners, gathering together. Kofi Pizza, Fryman, Harold Smiley, and Barb Miller joined up with Greg and the Maheswarans and talked about what they could remember before waking up in this alien place.

“It was well after closing the restaurant. Everything wiped down, all the chairs up on the table. At last I was putting away the mop after cleaning the floor,” said Kofi. “Then the windows filled with a bright blue light. And then this crazy place.”

Priyanka frowned, recalling the alien bounty hunters who had almost caught her daughter along with Steven. “That's how you described that. . . Aquamarine, Connie? Her ability to levitate people with a wand. You said it was a bright blue light.”

“None of us blacked out when we were caught in it though,” the young teenager said, adjusting the sheathed sword slung over her shoulder. “If we did, Aquamarine wouldn't have needed Topaz to hold onto us.” She and Greg described how they had just set foot on the beach when they were blinded by the same blue light Kofi described, and then. . . here.

Hadn't Steven surrendered himself to Aquamarine to stop the other abductions, Greg wondered. And wasn't she only after a specific, short list of people? What happened here seemed to be the wholesale movement of everyone in the tourist town.

For his own part, Fryman has been checking that his younger son, PeeDee, was actually asleep and not running over the Fry Shack's account books again, so had not seen anything. One moment checking in on a pre-teen, the next moment waking up on a purple floor.

“I was installing the new race tracks in Road Killer at the arcade,” said Smiley. “I had the roll doors down, so I didn't see anything. But at, maybe, quarter after eleven, all the pinball machines go CRAZY. Bells dinging, lights flashing—I ain't seen anything like that since the last time I went eight days without sleep! Ha!”

The digital sound of a smartphone camera shutter intruded on the talk. “None of you saw the Kaiju?” Ronaldo looked extremely smug.

Half a dozen faces fixed him with a flat stare. “What do you mean 'Kaiju', boy?” his father asked.

Clearing his throat dramatically, Ronaldo began a grand tale. “As I often do, I was conducting a night-time reconnaissance patro-”

“You were supposed to be working on your school book report on 'Moby Dick',” Fryman interjected.

Scowling, Ronaldo continued. “AFTER COMPLETING the second draft of my book report, I had stepped out to conduct a routine night-time patrol of the boardwalk. All seemed calm, but my keenly-honed senses could tell that tonight was not a night like any other. After a full half-hour of patrol, my snacks supply running low and my frappuccino completely drained, I was considering returning to do another editing pass on the report when IT HAPPENED.”

After waiting fruitlessly for any reaction other than impatient staring, Ronaldo swiped his phone's photo gallery over and turned the screen to the crowd. “At approximately 10:55 p.m. EST, I noticed and was able to capture the image of an enormous kaiju—that's 'mysterious creature' in Japanese—rising out of the ocean east of Beach City.”

The image was extremely dark, but they could all make out a domed shadow. The shadow, though, was clearly large enough to blot out a swath of night sky stars near the horizon. Other than 'huge, rounded, and opaque', though, no details could be made out.

“Well yeah, I guess that had to be it,” Greg conceded. “Some kind of space ship, probably. They must have come as close as they could underwater, and then popped up to grab us. Probably timed it to avoid the Gems, too.”

Delighted at this 'victory', Ronaldo dashed off to explore and take more photos.

“That seems like a lot of work and planning to capture the residents of one small town,” said Priyanka. “Particularly if what Connie has told Doug and I about how little interest in or respect Homeworld Gems have for biological life is true.”

“They seem to have very much interest in us right now,” Kofi pointed down the corridor, where a knee-high panel had slid open to release a growing crowd of small multi-limbed robots. The glossy-finished machines were spreading carefully through the human crowd and stopping to silently watch small groups of people. The things were keeping a degree of distance, and moved out of the paths of people walking, but seemed quite intent on their observations.

A few tense minutes went by, but the little walking hemispheres didn't seem to take any action beyond watching.

“Well, if they're going to learn about us, we might as well return the favour,” mused Greg, stepping to one side as one of Beach City's younger residents, Onion, chased a robot around the corner, the gradeschooler brandishing a claw hammer. “Who's up for a little exploring?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So that is chapter one. Feedback is welcomed, particularly in regards to characterization of the cast.
> 
> The title of the work is tentative right now. I am not satisfied with it, but I haven't yet thought of anything better. Hopefully that will gel as I get deeper into the writing.
> 
> My intended schedule right now is to release one of the completed chapters each week until I run out of stockpile. Ideally I'll have more chapters written and edited by the time today's stockpile runs dry, and I will be able to keep to that schedule, but I will cross that bridge when I get to it.


	2. What can I do?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Greg and the townies learn more about where they have been brought, while the whys remain elusive.

As large as the Gem facility was, with the entire population of Beach City exploring it only took a few hours to get a good grasp of the station. And space station it was. Onion's older brother Sour Cream and the mayor's son, Buck Dewey, found an observation area that looked out on a violently purple gas giant they seemed to be in orbit around.

The facility was not the Human Zoo, though, and lacked the enclosed garden area in the middle. Some of the technology was clearly the same though, as Barb's team with her daughter Sadie found a large cache of the obviously artificial, vibrantly-coloured and geometrically-shaped 'fruit' which were the only food supply in the Zoo. The Zoo's fruit were manufactured on demand by ersatz trees, though, and there were none of those found. Whoever had brought them here had provided a stockpile of food, but what happened when it ran out?

Greg was chewing one of the last bites of his rationed 'apple'—Priyanka had declared herself the best able to ensure adequate nutrition while stretching the food stockpile, and had written up a rationing schedule—when Yellowtail, who was Onion and Sour Cream's father and one of the few fishermen who still worked from the Beach City marina, called him over.

Through his heavy accent, which Greg was only able to understand with years of practice, the yellow-slickered sea captain explained that he and Smiley thought they had figured out some of the function of the station—what it was used for, if not yet how.

“That's great, man!” Greg grinned, giving Yellowtail a shoulder hug. “Any answers at all would be good right now. Lead on!”

After a 10-minute walk, the two entered into an echoing, cavernous space disconcertingly open to the void of space at one end—only some kind of force field kept air, heat, and life inside. 

As large as the room was, it was still crowded, with a half-dozen large spacecraft using it as a hangar. Smiley waved them over to the rear of one of the craft.

“What have you guys found, Smiley?” Greg asked, giving the bulky, banana-yellow, geometric ship a look over.

“Yellowtail and I found this hangar, and he says to me, he says 'Hey Smiley, does this place remind you of anything?' Everything with blinky lights reminds me of the arcade, but that's not what he's talking about,” the hardest-working man in Beach City laughed and pointed up at the back end of one of the spacecraft, and then across to the hangar wall farthest from the opening to vacuum, which was embedded with esoteric machinery.

“What do these two things have in common?”

Greg swivelled his head between the back of the ship and the wall, scratching his chin. “Well, that bit and that bit are kind of the opposite shape from one another, like an audio output cable and the jack on an amp. . . so they fit together? What do you think, an airlock? What would they need an airlock for if they can hold the air in with a force field, though?”

Smiley's grin grew, somehow, wider. “Not an airlock, Universe, a STUFF-lock!” With a flourish, Smiley touched a panel on the back of the ship, doing something Greg didn't catch. Then, smoothly and silently, a door on the back of the ship opened up, revealing a hollow space full of what looked like jumbled, broken rock.

Yellowtail explained the two of them had found that the other side of the wall with the connector was a room full of machines, conveyors, and hoppers of different kinds that seemed to feed to the rest of the station.

“The whole setup is like a bigger, more complicated version of the old Beach City fish-packing plant. Only, you know, made of weird alien space-glass. Takes up like half of the station, I think!” Smiley closed the door on the ship again. “Yellowtail and I didn't open the other ships, because who knows what's in them. Could be radioactive, and you and I can't afford to lose anymore hair! Ha!”

Greg chuckled ruefully along with Smiley's powerful, barking laugh. After a moment longer, though, Smiley and Yellowtail's faces fell slowly to a kind of needy, searching look.

“So, Universe. . . what is all this stuff for?”

Greg froze, fixed in place by the fear behind his friends' eyes. Their expectation that, because of his contact with alien stuff through his family, he could somehow make sense of any of this, bore into Greg.

“I don't—I don't know guys. I'm sorry. I have no idea.” As the honest confession passed his lips, Greg could see panic and despair gaining control of the two Townies.

“Beep!”

A cheerful electronic tone coming from knee-level broke the moment of tension. 

Startled, the three friends looked down at the observation robot that had been lurking by Greg's foot.

“Did you just beep?” Greg asked.

“Zwoo-zwoo beep!”

The machine spun in place, then sped off back towards where most of the townspeople were staying.

Greg looked at Yellowtail and Smiley. The three shrugged, and, having something to do to hold panic at bay, followed the robot.

******

Greg, Yellowtail and Smiley trotted up to Priyanka and Doug, the small robot they had been chasing having easily outpaced and lost them. Catching their middle-aged breath, the trio noticed the concerned looks the Maheswarans were wearing, and started to pick up on an uneasy vibe that was growing among the townsfolk.

“Good, you're all here,” Prianka made some ticks in a notebook. “We are trying to account for everyone. A few minutes ago, six of those little robot things herded Mayor Dewey through one of the locked doors we found, and sealed it behind him. Doug was worried you three had disappeared, too.”

“What about his bodyguards?” Greg asked, mopping his sweaty head with a cloth.

“Ran like startled birds,” Doug chuckled ruefully. “I'd say they were giving the security industry a bad name, but I don't blame them. Nobody is trained for this.”

“Oh boy. Look, this is going to get people pretty rattled,” Greg started, frowning. “I'm going to see if I can. . . if I can help somehow. Doug, maybe you can find out if anyone saw through the door Dewey went through before it closed. It's not much, but if we can learn anything new, maybe it could help?”

“On it, Universe,” Doug shot finger-guns at Greg, who returned them before turning a corner.

Out of sight of the Maheswarans, Greg's shoulders slumped. He'd lived with Rose Quartz, leader of the Crystal Gems, for years, and had been abducted to space by Homeworld Gems before. That gave him a better understanding of the situation the Beach City population was in, which somehow was both reassuring and extra-terrifying at the same time. So many people were looking to him as 'the guy who knows this stuff', when he was pretty sure he actually was 'the guy who dragged you all into this stuff.'

What actual good was Greg Universe, car wash operator and washed-up never-was rockstar?

Another couple of dozen steps on, the 'dad' part of his brain started to hammer on the walls of Greg's funk, insisting there was a sound that required his immediate attention, no matter what.

Someone was telling a story in the improvised school the Townies had set up for their children. But it wasn't the melody of the woman's voice, moving to the rhythm of the story's beat, that had reached into a deep, primal part of Greg.

There was a polyphonic, second melody. Quiet, minor key. Children, telling each other to be brave. Trying to quiet their whimpers so the adults wouldn't worry.

Scrubbing his face with the back of his arm, Greg took a few breaths and put his concert face on, striding into the kids' room.

“Hey, space cadets, who here knows the Pepe's Burgers jingle? I'm thinking sing-along!”


	3. Meeting with someone entirely new

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Greg and Priyanka meet up with the person behind the mass kidnapping of beach city, and her agenda is revealed. . . at least in part.

Greg had the young crowd good and distracted for nearly an hour, moving through jingles and children's song standards to some fun pop rock from decades ago, when one of Kofi's twin teen-aged daughters skidded to a stop in the door. Kiki clung to the door frame, her swift run almost making her overshoot.

“Mr. Universe! Mayor Dewey's back!”

Scrambling to his feet, Greg followed Kiki's rapidly retreating back to a growing circle of people around the mayor, who was smiling and waving like he was leading a parade.

Brimming with his usual confidence and charm, Dewey smiled and shook hands with the crowd. “Thank you. Thank you so much for your concern for my well-being. But I bring only good news. The best news!”

Greg sidled up beside Doug and muttered quietly. “So what happened?”

“You didn't miss much,” Doug said, craning to see over the mob. “Dewey's guards got herded over to the same door he disappeared through, but instead of being pushed through, they were just kept there until Dewey came out himself. He's been glad-handing ever since.”

“First, I want to allay the number one concern I have been hearing,” Dewey projected his voice with practiced ease, so even at the back of the crowd Greg could hear him clearly. “We are NOT prisoners. I have been speaking with the lovely woman who has brought us here, and it has been extremely productive.”

Dewey's finely-honed mayor skills knew just how long to pause for effect to be sure that first tidbit had been absorbed.

“Far from being prisoners, we are guests, and can leave any time we wish. The truth is we all—you, me, Beach City—have been brought here to take advantage of a great opportunity! We are being given this space station and everything on it—including the space ships—to use as we see fit.”

Sensing the crowd was about to burst into a cacophony of questions, Dewey plowed forward.

“We will be the only vacation-focused community on the Eastern Seaboard with our own outer space attraction! Imagine the increase in tourist revenues. I have been told we can even rename this place.”

Dewey gestured dramatically, miming out the front of a marquee. “I'm thinking 'Beach Station'. What do you think?”

Beach City's mayor beamed to the crowd, satisfied he had served his constituents and secured a brighter future for them.

Into the pregnant silence that followed, a wry, teen-aged voice cut in. “Any y'all know HOW to fly a space ship? 'Cause unless it's got a clutch and a five-speed stick I'm sure as heck not even going to get it out of the garage, let alone back to Earth.” Kiki's sister Jenny snarked, hand on hip.

A second pause drew out uncomfortably, and Dewey's smile wavered.

\--------------------------

After an extended period of shouting, enough details of what happened on the other side of the mysterious locked door were clarified to put a picture together. Their 'host' had identified Dewey as the 'person in charge', and brought him in to talk with her. Whatever the extent of that talk had been, Beach City's mayor had obviously been out of his depth, latching onto whatever he did understand, or could at least make an analogy for, and plowing forward with his typical confidence.

Had the Townies been captured by an ambitious land developer, or a county- or state-level government official, Dewey would have been in his element—a man on fire. But Greg was pretty sure that Dewey—despite his crush on the Crystal Gem named Pearl—did not really grasp that the woman-like beings who had for centuries lived on the land where Beach City was founded were aliens. And Greg was entirely sure that their 'host' likely did not understand humans either.

“That's all he discussed?!” Priyanka snapped, incredulously. “We have people relieving themselves in the corner of an empty room, we can't even wash our hands, and the Mayor is thinking about marketing to tourists?” Gritting her teeth, the doctor strode towards the closed door Dewey had emerged from, Doug and Greg hastily following. 

“Honey, I am entirely on your side regarding hygiene,” Doug started, keeping pace with his wife. “I just think it might be a good idea to take a breath or two, and plan your arguments in professional language, so our kidnapper doesn't eject you into space. Think of this as a meeting with the head of the hospital board.”

“These are Gems, Priyanka,” Greg pleaded as she hammered on the door with her fist. “Their bodies and society are completely different than ours. Without context, you'll just talk past each other!”

She fixed Greg with an icy stare. “Then I suppose I should bring an interpreter. I am NOT going to be in a position where I have to manage a cholera outbreak!”

As the door slid aside in response to Priyaka's aggressive knocking, she grabbed his wrist and hauled him through the gap into a dark, spacious room lit primarily by holographic video monitors.

The portal snapped shut behind them, cutting Doug off.

In the centre of the room, a tall figure observed the two from where she sat in a spartan, geometric chair, surrounded by displays.

Framed by a wine-dark block of tightly curled hair and bearing a neutral expression, the grape-hued woman's face surveyed the bewildered humans for a moment before speaking.

“There are correct protocols for requesting an audience with a senior command officer,” she said in a low, liquid voice. “Shouting and striking access ports are not among those protocols. Were you under my command, the correction would be swift and decisive. Your Mayor's organizational discipline is disappointing. What do you want?”

While Greg blanched under this scrutiny, Priyanka had long experience with arrogant administrators.

“Mayor Dewey is very capable, but he's the sort who expects others to be capable and self-directed at their own specialties, and only come to him for higher-level questions,” the doctor spoke with a well-practiced 'talking to bean-counters' voice.

“As you have been monitoring us, you have no doubt seen that as the most experienced medical professional here, I have taken on the responsibility of ensuring the health of all the humans. I have come to talk to you because there are some details that need to be sorted out to ensure everyone here remains fit and healthy.”

There was a long pause as the seated Gem thought through Priyanka's declaration.

“What,” she asked, “is a 'medical professional', and what is 'healthy'?”

Priyanka blanked for a second, shocked by the question. “To be 'healthy' is to be in a state of complete mental, physical, and social well-being,” she said, falling back on the medical dictionary definition. “Doctors maintain health.”

Seeing the Gem's continued confusion, Greg tried a different approach. “Like, you guys have engineers and technicians that maintain and repair space ships and things, right? Like, Peridots I guess? Well, human bodies are kind of like machines—we have lots of parts working together in really complicated ways. Doctors help keep them working, and try to fix them when they get messed up.”

The purple figure nodded.

Priyanka smiled at Greg, agreeing with his analogy, then spoke again to the Gem on the chair.

“You have provided many of the things we need—food, oxygen, gravity, air pressure, warmth—and we are grateful,” Priyanka said. “But there are still some things missing without which the humans here are going to start deteriorating.”

The Gem held up her hand, pausing the doctor, and turned to Greg.

“I now understand this one’s role as ‘doctor.’ What role do you play in human society, and why are you more familiar with Gems?”

“These days I run the car wash, though I still think of myself as a Rock Star,” Greg started with a chuckle, but he quickly shifted gears as the Gem's stare bore into him. “Er, I—uh—I operate a facility that does very basic maintenance on human ground vehicles. I used to perform music. As for knowing Gem stuff, I just happened to spend more time with the few Gems that were still on the Earth than other people have, I guess.”

Nodding, the Gem thought for a moment, composing what she would say.

“I formally recognize you as subordinates of Mayor Dewey, authorized to communicate directly with me on her behalf. While I do not understand the idea of you having a previous role, it is not important right now. I recognize you both as technicians, with specialties in 'medical professional' and vehicle maintenance, and will address you as such.”

She opened a holographic screen which displayed images of the Beach City residents and text neither human could read. Paging through it and pulling up Greg and Priyanka’s files, the Gem scanned them before editing them briefly.

“Technician Greg-1 will be additionally assigned to communication facilitation until a suitable communication specialist can be found or prepared.”

As Greg and Priyanka gawped a bit, taking in this shift in tone, the Gem drew herself to her feet, her full height making her at least a head taller than either of the humans. As she stood, a long cape draped down from her shoulders.

“Whether there was a fault of understanding when I spoke with Mayor, or if she simply did not pass this information on to her subordinates, I will repeat it for you.”

“I am Almandine, commander of the Fourth Exploratory and Surveying Expedition under orders of Pink Diamond,” the Gem spoke with force. “For reasons that are not important at this time, my specific orders have led me to begin the experiment we are involved in here. To see if humans can, unassisted, operate a Gem facility.”

Greg and Priyanka could only gape in surprise at this revelation.

“This manufacturing station, while outdated, should be fully configurable to manufacture anything you need for your 'health',” Almandine continued with calm authority. “All systems are currently keyed to Mayor’s security clearance, so she may delegate access as she sees fit. Additionally, all operational documents are available. This should be sufficient for the operational staff of ‘Beach City’ to conduct all necessary tasks.”

Greg shared a look with Priyanka, then cleared his throat. “Ah, C-commander Almandine. . . what are those documents written in? None of us know how to read Gem writing.”

Alamandine rolled her eyes. “You humans are supposed to be adaptable. You can LEARN, can’t you?”

“Weeell, we can,” Greg admitted. “But the question is, can we do it in time for it to do any good? I mean, you said the experiment was to see if we could run the station, right? Not to see if we could learn to read. If we run out of food before we can read well enough to make more, won’t all this work have been a waste?”

Alien eyes bore into Greg for long, silent minutes. Finally, the Gem sighed. “What do you need?”


	4. And it isn't quite easy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Now with all the tools they theoretically need to get started operating Beach Station Greg and the crew try to tackle the immediate problems facing their survival.

Hesitantly, Greg Universe placed his palm on a certain part of the wall, and waited. After a moment, it glowed with strange geometric characters, which he stared at intensely for minutes before dragging one finger over them in a simple pattern.

The door snapped open.

“. . . for over an hour! They could be hurt, or worse! We should force th-“ Connie Maheswaran’s agitated voice cut off at the sound of the door’s movement. Her father, Doug, looked over his shoulder from where he was trying to block his daughter from doing anything reckless.

“Nice shades, Universe,” Doug joked, as Greg and Priyanka Maheswaran—both wearing transparent green visors over their eyes—stepped out of the dimly-lit office of their captor, the Gem commander Almandine.

“Would have really killed it on stage during my touring days,” Greg joked back.

“MOM!” Connie threw herself into hugging the doctor.

“I'm fine, honey,” Priyanka said, bending down to kiss her daughter on the forehead. 

“So, Mayor Dewey had the gist of things right, kinda.” Greg began to explain what had occurred in Almandine's command centre to Dewey, the boardwalk gang, and other prominent Beach City citizens.

Between himself and Priyanka, Greg detailed how the visors had been taught to translate Gem script into the 44 phonemes of English, so the wearers could read the station's signs and displays to a limited extent. However, right now the only people with any security access were Mayor Dewey, Priyanka and himself, and only Dewey could grant access the Beach City townsfolk would need if they were to be able to do so much as open doors.

“Ultimately, to get home, we will need to learn how to fly and navigate a spaceship to Earth. But we need to be sure we don't run out of food or water, and do not get sick before then,” Priyanka was jotting a rough timeline into her notebook. “Certainly, we can't do this if only two of us can interpret Gem writing. So I think one of our first priorities should be some solution to the written language barrier.”

“So we will need many visors?” asked Kofi.

Greg frowned. “Maybe. But that would mean really figuring out this whole factory thing fast. Maybe something more low-tech, like flash cards or something?”

“Could we just reprogram the system to display English words?” Connie asked. “That seems like it would be the simplest for everyone.”

“You have any idea how many words there are in English, kid?” Smiley threw his hands in the air. “We'd be here a year just doing that!”

“First things first. We need toilets, soap and clean water, and something to clean up the feces we've already created,” asserted Priyanka. “Those should be easy enough to produce, once we have access to the manuals and manufactory controls.”

Greg took off his visor and handed it to the mayor. “Almandine said she's set up a console for you in the big command centre place." He cocked a thumb over his shoulder at the door he and Priyanka had just emerged from. “So you can decide who gets what clearance.”

Dewey took the offered device, turning it over in his hands. “I'm not really a technology guy, Universe. I usually get Rodney the office intern to do these things. He did a bang-up job on updating the Beachapalooza page this year. Even got us some of those pictures that move—geeefs, I think they're called.”

“Right now, you're the only one who can, Mayor Dewey,” Greg said, shrugging apologetically. “Almandine's set it so only you have the authority to make any changes.”

“Hmm, yes. Authority.” Dewey contemplated the visor in his hands. Then he stood straight, slipping it over his eyes. “Authority, and also duty. The bread and butter of a Mayor. Rodney! Where is that kid? Someone find Rodney. He's about yay tall, blonde hair, weak moustache?”

There was some murmuring and jostling in the crowd, and eventually someone matching the description was pushed forward.

“No, no, there has got to be someone better for this job,” the man protested. “I am a political science major! I'm not trained for this, you know? There must be someone with a technical background that would be better equipped for this.”

“Nonsense!” Dewey said, cheerfully, while clapping Rodney on the shoulder encouragingly with one hand and getting a firm grip on his bicep with the other. “There is no-one else who has worked so close to my vision, who can really 'think Dewey'!”

As the mayor fiddled with the door panel for access to Almandine's control room, Rodney stared pleadingly at the other Beach City residents.

“You don't understand! He prints web pages to read them! He has thirty-seven extensions in his browser! For the love of all that's good, he uses his recycle bin for file storage!”

Oblivious to the young man's protests, Dewey pulled him through the portal into the dark room beyond, and the door closed.

A moment passed.

“You're pretty tech-savvy, aren't you Ronaldo?” Fryman asked.

“My expertise is in extracting information from unclear images and audio, and in social media virality optimization. As much as it is my lifelong dream to have access to advanced alien technology, I am certain I would not be of assistance to our mayor in this instance.”

“What about you, Smil-”

“I'd jump out an airlock before going through that door with Dewey, Fryman.”

\-----------------------------------

Roughly two hours after they had entered Almandine's command room, Dewey and Rodney emerged through the same door. While the young intern looked drawn and haggard, Dewey was chipper as he handed the visor back to Greg.

“Well that's sorted then. Everyone should have the access they need, so let's get this show on the road! Doctor Maheswaran, I believe you had a timeline planned?”

Priyanka nodded. “First we need to clean up the temporary latrines and get some proper toilets, soap, and running water. Or, at least as close as we can get. I'd like to see if I can input the formula for some basic soap, but I think someone with some expertise at simple construction, and ideally plumbing, should take the other visor and come with me to the factory controls.”

Smiley stepped forward. “Lady, I've picked up a bit of everything running the arcade and Funland. If I can't help you with this, I can at least learn enough to know which guys in my rolodex to call.”

His signature grin split is face. “And it ain't like I have no experience cleaning up. Lotta people ride the teacups after too many funnel cakes, if you catch my drift.”

While several people in the crowd shuddered at the mental image, Priyanka just nodded and passed the spare visor from Dewey to Smiley. “Okay, you're with me, then. Let's go.”

As the two made their way to what had earlier been identified as a sub-control room dedicated to the factory-like components of the station, Greg handed Rodney an octagonal purple faux-fruit. “I used to know a guy who thought these were the best ones. Take a load off for a while, you've earned it.”

Rodney just sobbed.

\-----------------------------------

Greg was working with the school again when Fryman came to find him—Priyanka and Smiley were back from their investigation, and the Boardwalk group were meeting with the Mayor to discuss what they'd found.

As they passed the latrines, he could hear a regular scraping sound, and looked in to see volunteers shoveling the accumulated waste into buckets. Fryman just shrugged at Greg's questioning look, so the two continued to the meeting.

Once everyone had arrived, Smiley started his report. “So the thing is, the system on this station is both real smart and real dumb. Its all automated, for one thing. You can say 'hey, I need water pipes to go to this room, and a drain in the floor', and those little robot guys will run around and set it all up lickety-split. You can have it scan your shoe, and the whole thing will build a shoe assembly line on its own.”

The big man then frowned, and leaned on the wall, crossing his arms. “What it ain't got is the tools to design anything new. Those shovels and buckets we got are just spare parts for the machines here that are kinda the right shape.”

“That copying ability does extend to substances, not just structures, though,” Priyanka noted. “I have already tested it by having the system replicate an ASA tablet. So we should be okay for any basic medications that I have in my medical bag.”

Then she frowned.

“The bigger issue is water. There is almost none of it on the station,” Priyanka sighed. “What there is is mostly tied up in us, the food stockpile, and now our waste. That's why we've prioritized waste collection. We're going to have to recapture all the water in it until we can find and collect some from outside.”

Yellowtail swore.

“Well, you are one of the only people here with hip-waders, man, so yeah, I think you're going to get roped into the bucket brigade,” Greg said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not a whole lot interesting going on in this chapter, I know, but if I jumped straight into what comes next it would double the length of this part and I was behind my self-imposed schedule as it was.
> 
> I still think I'm getting the characterization, but please let me know if I'm off.


	5. What do we do with this poo?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Now knowing the situation clearly, Greg and the other Townies begin project: Get Back To Earth, stage one--secure the bare necessities. Yet a series of mysterious problems keep setting them back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There was no chapter last weekend due to the holiday long weekend here in Canada, in which I took a much needed mental health break. Being able to work from home during this pandemic is a blessing, but over time the isolation has crept up on me.
> 
> Call up your loved ones and chat, it'll do you and them a world of good.

The next few days after the visit with Almandine had been an odd mix of activity and idleness, Greg thought, headed to 'work'. There was a great deal to do, but anything more advanced than manual labour really needed a translator visor, and those were taking time to reproduce. Part of that production was still manually programming them with the phonetic translator software—nobody had enough command of the computers here yet to have the visors manufactured pre-programmed—so Greg, who had been involved in setting up the first two, had volunteered to set up each new visor.

As tedious as it was, Greg was glad to see the devices already making a difference. He waved to the teachers in the 'school' they had set up. An auditorium-like briefing room had been repurposed after Ronaldo, of all people, had figured out how to use the display wall as a whiteboard.

“What's on the curriculum today?” Greg asked, noticing two of Almandine's observer robonoids in the room glance at him before returning their electronic attention to the teacher and his students.

“Vocabulary and basic geometry,” the sandy-haired teacher said, waving back to Greg. “I'm still waiting on stationary or something before we get into math.”

“I'm sure it is on the to-do list, but I'll remind Dewey and the others about it,” Greg said, heading on his way. 

He strode into the workshop that had been set up next to one of the factory 'outputs', just in time to see Smiley and PeeDee high-fiving triumphantly. PeeDee, like many of the older kids, had been 'apprenticing' to whomever had a visor, getting a crash course on how the equipment worked, even if they couldn't operate them yet.

“Well you two are in a good mood,” Greg said, sitting down and picking up the first of that day's new batch of visors to program.

“How can you tell, am I smiling?” Smiley said, barking a laugh, while the younger Fryman boy held up his prize—a square of cloth.

Greg was confused for a moment, then it clicked. “Wait, you got the factory to make fabric?”

“Yeah, it has a lot of trouble with complicated chemicals, but I realized it should have an easier time copying my cheap polyester handkerchief,” PeeDee grinned.

Smiley slapped a hand on the boy's shoulder. “This kid's got a big brain on him, Universe. A real problem-solver.”

Putting the cloth square onto a stack of others in an open-topped crate, PeeDee said: “It still took a long time to make these, so we've only got a few dozen. But I'm going to run them over to the daycare and give them to Ms. Vidalia. They'll have to do until we can get enough water, and make soap, to wash diapers. Freeze-drying the used ones in an evacuated airlock and knocking off the solid mess isn't working as well as we'd hoped.”

Smiley nodded. “Vidalia and the rest of team mom are tryin' to get the kids potty trained when they can, but no amount of 'good boy' praises can rush nature, you know?”

PeeDee hefted the crate of cloth squares on top of a nosy robonoid, which complained electronically but didn't throw the crate off. “At least we can just throw these in the recycler when they're soiled. C'mon you, we've got a delivery to make.”

The robonoid followed him out.

Greg settled in to work, chatting here and there with Smiley about how various projects were going.

All of the human waste had been collected into one of the factory's spare resource hoppers, Smiley noted, while a few townies had been deputized to the role of carrying full buckets to the hopper from the improvised toilets that had been set up. As well, one of the systems scanners had been set to try and analyze the faux fruit so it could be replicated from the collected 'organic material', and while it the scan was progressing steadily, it was painfully slow.

However, the plan to set up actual plumbing, with running water and flush toilets, was not going so well.

“I don't get what's up with those robot-things, Greg,” Smiley sat down next to the musician, casting a tired and irritated look at one of the aforementioned domed mechanoids. “Me and the plumbing guys, we tell them where to run pipe, and they scoot off quick as you please. Thing is, they don't keep doing it! Not five minutes later and the little beepers are off recolouring a room or chasing Ronaldo around like hungry cats after a barn mouse.”

Beach City's tourist entertainment mogul flexed and relaxed his hands, which were noticeably trembling. “I haven't had a coffee in days! DAYS, Universe. Running Funland in the on season I'm about 80% coffee! I can't take this kind of cold-turkey withdrawal! But we need to get the water running before Doc M will let us copy her caffeine pills.”

Greg gave his friend's hand a squeeze, offering what reassurance he could. At the same time, Yellowtail tromped into the room and dropped into one of the few chairs that had been produced, eating an orange 'fruit.' 

At Greg's raised eyebrow, the fisherman sighed heavily and explained how he was running into weird problems, too. He and Jenny Pizza—one of the other pilot candidates—had been carefully studying the controls of a ship in the hangar when the force field keeping the hangar's air in just vanished. They were trapped in the ship for hours until someone was able to re-establish the force field and fill the hangar with air again.

“There are a lot of reports of oddities coming in,” Doug said, appearing stealthily and leaning on the door frame. “View screens turning on and showing people on the toilets or otherwise undressed. Doors locking from the outside. Station robots running off with people's belongings. None of us are detectives, but I've been trying to get to the bottom of things. Connie's got a lot of the teens involved in asking around, which has mostly been a big help.”

“Mostly?” Greg looked up from a visor he was finishing up on.

“Ronaldo's enthusiasm doesn't quite make up for his preconceptions,” Doug drawled.

Greg handed the visor he was working on, now programmed, to Smiley for the factory setup team. 

“Harold, have you or any of your team been seeing, I don't know, warning lights or alarms or anything when you've been working with the station? Like, maybe these are malfunctions or something.”

The bald man shook his head. “Not that I'd seen or heard of, Universe. Only warnings I know of were reports that the station is low on some metals and stuff for the factory.”

Greg turned to Doug, who looked thoughtful.

“Mischief, maybe,” Doug said, going over the problem in his head. “Things going missing, things getting turned on and off, messing with the robonoids. . .” He trailed off, and the four men shared a look.

“ONION.”

\--------------------------------

“You a good girl, going potty,” Vidalia smiled at the small child in front of her. The girl held up both hands, backs to the older woman, then turned them palms-out.

“Oh, are you all done? Did you pull the lever?” Vidalia prompted.

The girl looked over, and pulled the dummy flush lever on the potty before signing 'all done' again.

“So smart! Very good, Kelly.” Helping the girl off the bowl, Vidalia wiped her clean and re-dressed her before turning to a Greg and Doug, the former looking a bit red in the face from running.

Waiting until Kelly had run off to the play group, Vidalia crossed her arms and gave the two men her attention. “Okay, where's the fire?”

“No fires yet,” said Doug. “But there's been a bunch of mischief lately, and it seems to fit your younger son's usual pattern of. . . uh. . .” He trailed off as Vidalia's gaze grew icier and bore into him.

“Onion's pattern of exploratory play,” Greg interjected. “Smiley's ruled out any malfunctions with the station, so we got to thinking that maybe Onion's been, aaah, teaching himself about how the station works. Which is great!” Greg withered a bit under the woman's stare. “But there have been some consequences that could be a problem.”

Vidalia scowled some more, then sighed, tension going out of her face. “Okay, thanks for letting me know. I'll go find him and talk to him. You two stay here, so you don't scare him.”

Two blurs, one white and one brown, flashed past the door.

“Smiley may also be looking for Onion,” Greg admitted.

“COME BACK HERE YOU COFFEE-BLOCKING LITTLE TROLL!”

Vidalia bolted for the door, in hot pursuit. “If he touches my boy I'll feed him into the recycler myself!”

The chase was fierce, but not as drawn out as it could have been. Flocks of robonoids were observing every participant, which made it impossible for Onion to hide effectively.

Finally, Greg and Doug had Smiley pinned to the ground, and Vidalia was slowly approaching her agitated son, who had ended up in a dead-end in the factory near one of the control terminals.

“Hey, Sweetie. I know that Mr. Smiley scared you a lot. He's not feeling well and it is making him cranky.” She sat down and reached out for a hug. “I know you are having fun learning so many new things, but some of the things you have been playing with are dangerous, so we need to talk about safe and not-safe learning again.”

Onion looked at his mother, and then at the still-furious Smiley, seeming to consider. Then, in a flash, he prodded a sequence of commands into the console next to him. There was a noticable vibration in the floor, while Onion raised the backs of his hands towards his mother, then turned them palms forward.

“All done? What are you all done, sweetie?”

On top of the pinned Smiley, Greg blanched. “I think Onion wants to be praised for being a good boy, because I think he just. . . just flushed.”

“Oh no,” Doug's eyes widened. “The waste stockpile. That's most of our water.”

“We're all gonna die, and I ain't even had a coffee!”


	6. Is it enough, the things I can do?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The mission to recover the ejected bio-material for recycling is about to begin. Between the young people of Beach City being thrust into unreasonable danger and his own inability to help fix the problem, Greg Universe finds himself overwhelmed with familiar, frightening feelings.

“I am not happy you are doing this, daughter. It is very dangerous!” Kofi Pizza gestured sharply, as Jenny was taping handwritten notes to the inside of one of 'Beach Station's' mining ships.

“Well I'm not happy either, dad, but if we don't get that crap Onion dumped back, we're all gonna die anyway.” The aggressive Pizza twin zipped up the bomber jacket Doug was loaning her. They still were not sure if the ship's cockpit was heated, or how long the flight to recover the ejected organic matter was going to take. Wearing a jacket was nearly the limit of preparation the townies could muster.

Yellowtail put his hand on Kofi's shoulder, eyes full of determination.

“No one's better suited than these two,” Greg reassured Kofi. “Yellowtail is an old salt. He's got the experience to not be reckless on a voyage, and he says Jenny's taken to the ship controls like a natural. They'll be fine. And if they find it's too dangerous, they'll come back early.”

The sailor nodded, swearing up and down he'd bring Kofi's daughter back no matter what.

Jenny kept her gaze on her notes, but it was clear she wasn't seeing them. The rhythm of her breathing was off—fast and shallow with fear and the weight of responsibility. Buck Dewey, the mayor's son, calmly guided her through the mission steps again in his warm, slow tenor. He was going to be in her ear for the flight, being the contact with 'mission control'.

Kofi's hands clenched until the knuckles went white, his fingernails drawing blood from his own palms. “Well—well you had better!” Not trusting himself to say more, the pizza chef, red-eyed with choked-back tears, bolted from the hangar. His footfalls faded as an echoing staccato on the station's glassy floors.

Greg watched Kofi go, and thought about the times his own son had gone on missions with his alien Gem guardians. How many times had Greg trusted Pearl, Garnet, and Amethyst to take care of Steven, only for the boy to. . . to finally take on the responsibility himself. 

With a roar of blood in his ears, like a counter-melody suddenly becoming the dominant voice in the song of his emotions, all that Greg had been putting off feeling in the midst of the abduction crisis overtook him.

Steven was out there in the universe, somewhere. Just as desperate to get home as everyone from Beach City, but the prisoner of much less sympathetic captors.

Vision swimming, Greg stared out through the hangar's forcefield into the infinite void of space. The mission had to work They HAD to get home. HE had to get home. Steven needed him! He had to get home and. . . and what? What could he do? What could goofy, has-been Greg Universe do back on Earth that the Crystal Gems weren't doing already, a thousand times better and with no need to eat or rest? 

Robonoids skittered out of Greg's path as, weaving erratically, he tried to exit the hangar. Jenny and Buck didn't need him here. Nobody needed him, really, except maybe those kids in the school. That was the answer—he just needed to do what he was good at, right? He just. . . just. . . 

Candy-coloured walls blurred and shifted in Greg's vision before quickly fading to black.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

A soothing, familiar coolness crept into Greg's awareness, rousing him to consciousness. Raising a hand to his face, he found. . . a wet cloth?

“Stay still and rest. Doctor's orders,” Priyanka's voice slipped through the fog on Greg's brain, and he felt her move his hand back to his side.

“You're in the infirmary. Some of those little robot things came to fetch me after you fainted,” she said, anticipating his questions.

Taking a moment to get his bearings, Greg noticed Harold Smiley lying nearby, a blissful smile on his face.

“Patient confidentiality does not allow me to tell you why Mr. Smiley is in my infirmary, though you can probably surmise it on your own,” Priyanka leaned over Greg, checking his pulse. Taking the opportunity, she whispered to her patient. “He thinks I gave him a sedative. Don't let on that I didn't.”

“Uhh, right,” Greg settled back, taking a deep breath.

“Priyanka, how is my forehead wet?”

Shining a penlight in Greg's eyes to check dilation, the doctor nodded to herself. “You've been out for quite a while, Greg. Mr. Yellowtail and the Pizza girl were successful in their flight. Most of the biowaste was recovered, and the factory team has started recycling it.”

She adjusted the coat that was draped over Greg as a blanket. “I've been bathing your head from a bucket of water they ran over for the infirmary. The engineers have promised plumbing in the next four to six hours, and the latrine's plumbing should be next. Once Onion stopped hijacking the robots, things sped up a lot.”

“Oh. Oh good.” Greg sighed. “Probably Peedee's doing. He's a big asset, that kid. We're really lucky Beach City has so many skills we need.”

Frowning, Priyanka turned from checking on Smiley to fix Greg with a glare.

“Listen, Greg. I've had enough firefighters and other first responders come through my ER to be familiar with this song and dance. The world isn't going to fall apart without you, but you're not useless, either.”

Squeezing his arm, she gave him what she hoped was a reassuring smile.

“We doctors get a lot of praise, but a hospital ward would absolutely shut down without the nurses, sanitation staff, and other support,” she said. “We all work as a team, okay? I know you don't think you are an expert any anything but music, but without what you know about Gems we'd be out of luck, Okay? So rest up. I think we're going to need that Gem expertise soon.”

Greg closed his eyes, grudgingly. “What's up? Does it have something to do with why Onion was able to pull all those pranks?”

Taking a seat and resting against the wall, Priyanka nodded. “Yes and no. The reason Onion was able to do all that is that Mayor Dewey decided the easiest way to ensure all the humans had the security clearance they needed to run the station functions was to just give everyone the same clearance Almandine had given him. Ev-er-y-one.”

“Oof. I hope that's been fixed?”

The doctor sighed. “Yes and no. The security access levels are just labelled by Gem type, and we are still trying to figure out what they actually do and do not grant access to. Mayor Dewey was given 'Moss Agate' clearance, apparently, but how that compares to 'Holly Blue Agate', 'Onyx', or 'Fire Agate' clearance, we don't know. And the other types are an even bigger mystery.”

“So right now a tech team is working on removing all clearance from Beach City's minors, with the exception of those like Peedee Fryman who are actively working the station. Once that's secure, they're going to start to go over what the clearances are, to figure out who should get what.”

Greg winced, though he dutifully kept his eyes shut to rest.

“I guess that's where you'll need me to help,” he said. “Though I don't know Gem ranks and jobs much better than any other human.”

“No,” Priyanka rubbed her temples. “Or yes, but there's a bigger issue. Mayor Dewey has been trying damage control on his security flub, but people aren't quick to forgive nearly fatal errors. There has been a big push for a snap election. The factory team is already brainstorming ways of running a ballot, to be the next project in queue after getting us sinks and flush toilets in the latrines.”

Greg took in a deep breath, then let it out slowly.

Then he broke into rough, wet chuckles.

“Oh no. I'll have to explain voting to Almandine, won't I?”

Priyanka smiled, rinsing out Greg's cold compress in a bucket and putting it back on his forehead. “I said you needed to rest up for a reason, Technician Greg-1.”

Greg saluted weakly. "Technician Greg-1 resting as ordered, Technician Priyanka-1"

Closing her own eyes, she smiled. "That's Doctor Technician Priayanka-1, I'll thank you to remember." Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to catch some sleep before some other idiot stresses themselves unconscious."


	7. Oh, umm. Just what were you thinking?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the Onion Incident, tempers are flaring on Beach Station, and Mayor Dewey is the focus of much of them. How will their alien captor react when her human test subjects start acting particularly human? And who will have to try and play interpreter?

Greg spent the rest of the day, and much of the next, recuperating in the infirmary. Dr. Maheswaran checked in on him regularly, and members of the boardwalk crew popped in now and then. All of them gave him similar reassurances to those from Dr. Maheswaran—things were going well, and while Greg's contributions were valuable, they could get by without him if he needed a rest.

None of them, even Kofi Pizza, brought up Steven. Whether they were trying to be delicate, or they really hadn't realized the real source of Greg's anxiety, he didn't know. 

The Gems and Steven were not in the habit of sharing a lot of their world-saving adventures with the Beach City humans in general, so most of them probably weren't thinking of how often Greg had faced this kind of worry before. Plus, Almandine's abduction had taken whole families, so even the Maheswarans couldn't directly relate, Greg grudgingly admitted. Even though Connie had likely been in some world-risking peril herself as Steven's sword-swinging best friend.

Greg was washing his bristly face in the brand-new sink—razors were still not a priority—when a realization crashed into the front of his awareness.

The donut shop kid! Aquamarine had taken him along with Steven. How were his parents doing? Who WERE his parents?

Pulling on his shorts hastily, Greg racked his brain. The kid—Lars, if Greg was remembering right—worked with Sadie Miller at the Big Donut, right? Maybe she or Barb would know about Lars' parents.

A robonoid dogging his heels, Greg headed for the public offices they had set up. Barb was usually working out of there, relaying messages, and if he couldn't find her then maybe the 'town hall' team had a record of where the kid's parents were working.

To his surprise, there was a general movement of people in the same direction. Now that water and soap were available, the Beach City citizens seemed to be more hopeful. Though everyone's clothes had seen better days—so many layers or expendable parts had been sacrificed for rags and diaper material that the townsfolk looked like the cast of a shipwreck movie.

He noticed Mayor Dewey—with no jacket, the sleeves cut off his shirt and pants that stopped at the knees, but still wearing a perfectly knotted necktie—standing on box, flanked by two shirtless bodyguards. Several robonoids were clinging to the ceiling, getting a good view of the event.

“My beloved citizens, I know we have faced setbacks and hardships as we advance Project: Beach Station,” Dewey's practiced voice projected well as always. “And I have given my mea culpa for the recent access-related hiccups. My enthusiasm for this project and eagerness to see it to a swift completion led to me missing an important detail, which inconvenienced a lot of you.”

“We could have all DIED!” came a cry from the crowd.

“What we did was all pull together and overcome the challenge!” the mayor spread his arms in an encompassing gesture. “Everyone pitched in with their own strength, and now we are farther ahead than ever. Yes, it was tense there for a little while, but look around you. Everyone is safe and accounted for.”

“That's not true!” Sadie Miller's voice lanced out. “What about my friend Lars?!”

Dewey looked confused. “Who?”

Sadie, incredulous and getting increasingly angry, strode forward and gestured behind herself at a middle-aged couple. “Lars? Lars Barriga? Son of Mr. And Mrs. Barriga?”

“Did you even know he had been abducted by a different group of aliens days before the rest of us?” she demanded. “Did you even know he is somewhere else in space? What kind of mayor doesn't even know when his own people are lost in space!?”

Dewey, sweating, adjusted his tie. “I am certain the young man has been provided with accommodations at least as good as our own. We'll just swing by and pick him up wherever he is once we are ready to take a space ship back to Earth.”

“Oh come ON!” Sadie cursed.

There was a blur of motion from the crowd, and the mayor's two bodyguards dove—ineptly, but with enthusiasm—in front of Dewey. Their trajectory too low, they failed to stop a red missile that caromed off of Dewey's forehead, leaving a wet smear of sugary juice in his hair.

The crowd turned to see the woman who had been standing behind Sadie, clad in a green dress, long red hair loose and flying, gripping another fruit and being held back by the Pizza twins—themselves not looking too happy with Dewey. “You've talked to the people who brought us all here! Did you even once think to ask that Gem lady about my son? If he's even alive!?” 

As Dewey stepped back, mopping his receding hairline with a cloth, Rodney, the mayoral office intern, stepped in front of the podium, hands raised. “It is clear that the citizenry are not confident in the incumbent mayor's performance. As per Beach City bylaws, we will hold an emergency election. If anyone wants to run, come talk to me and I'll walk you through the candidacy process. There will be an all-candidates event in a day or two, where those running can present their platforms and plans for managing the 'abducted into space' crisis. We'll run the ballot after that.”

As the citizens milled and muttered, Greg used rusty but still strong crowd-navigating skills from his old rock concert days to slip through to where the Pizza twins were comforting the Barrigas.

“My little Laramie! He's a good boy. He doesn't deserve any of this,” the red-haired woman wailed, supported by a short, balding man. 

As Greg approached, he could see half a dozen robonoids crowding close to the upset woman. Suddenly angry, Greg scooped up one of the walking hemispheres and flipped it over to glare into its camera. “This is not the time, Almandine. Give the woman some privacy in her grief.”

Tucking the squirming machine under one arm, Greg grabbed a second before addressing the human couple. “Look. . . I know this may not be the best time, and I'll understand if you don't want to talk about it. But my son's missing too, so I kind of get it. If there's anything I can do, just. . . just let me know.”

As Lars' dad gave Greg a nod, the musician turned and started walking towards the station's main control room. “Assuming Almandine doesn't just decide to squash me like an ant,” he muttered under his breath.

Reaching the door, he reached out for the 'page' button. After a moment, there was a response. A tightly-controlled, clipped response.

“Yes?”

“Uh, it's Greg. I mean, Technician Greg-1. I figured you'd want some of my 'explaining Gem stuff to humans and vice-versa' help about now.”

There was no response.

Greg waited.

The door slid open and he stepped in. Almandine sat in her usual place, with a dozen or more monitor screens open before her. Her attention was on none of them.

“The red-haired one. She attacked her Mayor.”

Greg put down the two robonoids he was carrying, which scurried off. “Yes.”

“That cannot be acceptable, even in human law.”

“It wasn't legal. She could still end up in prison for up to a few years, for an assault like that,” Greg sighed, shrugging. “There was no permanent harm, though, so the sentence is likely to be lighter.”

The Gem's gaze moved from the fixed point in space she'd been concentrating on, landing on Greg.

“Just prison? For striking a superior?”

“Hoo boy. This is going to take some explaining. Can I sit down?”

“No. Explain.”

He winced. “Right. So, I'll try to keep this short. Two things: One, prison is a big deal to humans. We only get so many years, and nobody wants to lose any of theirs behind bars. And second, Mrs. Barriga isn't Dewey's subordinate. She doesn't work for Beach City, she just lives in it.”

“Who DOES she report to, then?” Almandine snapped, pulling open her database of the station's humans.

Greg had to think about that for a while. “I think I've seen her working in the garden centre in the Spring, but we're past that season right now. Usually she sells her own handicrafts to tourists so. . . nobody?”

Almandine's hands hovered above the computer input. The only motion in the room not on a screen was a drop of sweat that was slowly moving down Greg's head.

Finally, a single syllable escaped the Gem's lips.

“What?”

Greg pinched the bridge of his nose. “Almandine, I think we're going at this backwards. I explain something, you say what, I explain the thing you need to understand the thing I just explained, you say what again. . . I should start at the beginning. The most basic things you need to understand, so that anything else about us makes sense.”

The Gem nodded slowly. “That, at least, is reasonable.”

“Okay. So. . .” Greg, not having prepared for this, cast his mind back through recent events, trying to think about people's motivations, without preconceptions.

“So, we die. That's number one.”

Almandine rolled her eyes. “Gems die too, Technician. That tells me nothing.”

“No no, this is bigger than that. All humans die. All humans alive right now will die, all humans who have ever existed before have died.”

The Gem sat back in her chair, waiting to see where the technician went with this.

“If a Gem has a job away from danger, and never breaks any laws, then they can maybe go on forever. They can at least believe they can go on forever,” Greg said. “Humans. . . can't. If we do everything right, and get really really lucky, we can maybe live a hundred years.”

He looked at his captor solemnly. “But we're all going to die. And we all know it, from a pretty young age. Well all know we're only going to get a little time to do all the things we want to do. Learn all we want to learn. Experience all the things we want to experience. Love all we want to love. So little time, and then. . . nothing.”

Greg pointed at the monitor where Nanefua Pizza was talking with Rodney. “Because our leaders die, we had to come up with ways of picking new leaders, and new officials. Some of those have grown into ways to replace those who are just doing a bad job. The election that's going to happen is one of those.”

“Because we die, we have spent thousands of years coming up with ways of needing to spend less time at work, so we have more time to do everything else. Think, invent, make music, create art, or just to enjoy being alive. So not all of us work, or don't work all the time.”

He moved to point at the image of Mrs. Barriga. “Because we die, we value children—new humans—very much. We trust them to carry our dreams into the future—holding up everything we've built until now, and growing it into something even better,” he said. “Mr. and Mrs. Barriga's son Lars—a young human they created—is missing. He was taken by some other Gems just days before you took the rest of us. Not knowing where Lars is, if he is alive or dead, it's tearing them up inside.”

Drawing himself to an uncharacteristic posture of attention, Greg looked Almandine in the eye. “Mayor Dewey took on the duty of ensuring everyone who lived and worked in Beach City succeeded at their goals, and had a good chance at life. And he was good at it, on Earth. He's been mayor longer than my own son's been alive. But the fiasco with the security access, not knowing Lars and Steven could be in terrible danger, and not taking Lars' parents' concerns seriously. . .” 

Greg's shoulders slumped. “A mayor isn't a commander, Almandine. Their orders aren't absolute over everyone in the city. But they need to be a leader—someone who can give directions that people follow by choice, because they trust the mayor's judgment and skills. And right now people don't trust Dewey very much.”

Almandine settled further into her command chair, staring into the middle distance and drumming her fingertips on the chair's arm.

After a moment, she spoke. “Very well. I will observe these events and review my notes on the experiment in light of this contextualizing information. When a new Mayor is selected, bring them to me. Dismissed.”

Greg hesitated. “Ah. . . there's just one more thing.”

The Gem's contemplating face shifted part way into a frustrated scowl. “What is it?”

“It's just. . . Lars and Steven. Just knowing where they are, and how they're doing. It would mean a lot to me and the Barrigas if you would find out what happened to them. With all the authority you have I'm sure it wouldn't take long to find out-”

“I will not be doing that, Technician. You are dismissed.”

“Please! He's my so-”

“You are DIS-MISSED.”

Mouth dry and hands shaking, Greg eventually nodded and broke eye contact, turning and passing back through the door.

Once it closed, he slumped against it, sliding down to the floor—utterly spent.


	8. So, umm. I guess things are going to be different?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With confidence in Mayor Bill Dewey's ability to lead the Beach Citizens (and Onion) safely through their exile in space, a snap election has been called. Several people with different plans for getting everyone back to Earth stake out their claims. But to Greg Universe, getting home would mean a lot less without his son. He too, is going to have to take on challenges outside of his wheelhouse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter took a lot longer than I hoped it would to get together. My focus has not been great lately, and keeping the words flowing without being distracted by some shiny has been more challenging than usual.
> 
> I am publishing this near midnight, with only a cursory edit, so please let me know if there are any spelling or grammatical errors that need a clean up. But I wanted to get it out there without keeping my readers waiting any longer.

The day of the speeches, Greg and Ronaldo were team-carrying a litter full of cloth and other fabricated cot parts when Connie caught up to them.

“Have either of you seen Buck Dewey or Peedee? They've apparently been disappearing to work on some kind of 'special project' on top of their normal shifts, and their dads are worried they're overworking themselves.”

“Are you suggesting my brother has joined some secret cabal, under the willing or unwilling sway of some enigmatic third party—possibly the snake people or 'sneople' I have always suspected?”

“No, Ronaldo,” Connie sighed. “Your dad is just worried PD is overworking himself again, doing double shifts or something.”

Greg put down his end of the litter, twisting his shoulders to loosen his back. “I haven't seen either one, Connie. What did Smiley have to say? He's usually working with Peedee.”

“Just that he wasn't hanging around to talk entrepreneurship as usual at the end of his shift. Peedee would just clock out and run off,” she explained.

Greg cracked his knuckles and picked up the litter again. “Well, I'm sure Buck will show up for the candidates' speeches, so we can ask him what he's been up to then. And maybe he knows where Peedee's been disappearing to.”

As Connie headed off to see if anyone else had a better idea, Greg silently returned to what was a very uncharacteristic train of thought for the musician.

Greg was scheming.

It wasn't a skill he'd ever practiced, so it wasn't coming easily, but he'd decided he was going to find a way to check on Steven and Lars', no matter what. That meant learning how to use the Gem network and getting access long enough to do the search before Almandine shut him down. 

He'd hoped to get the know-how from Buck Dewey, who had been studying that part of the station's functions, but as Connie had said the young man had been hard to find of late. Greg supposed he'd have to take his own advice and track Buck down at the speeches.

The second part, actually getting access to the network while Almandine's attention was elsewhere, was going to be tricky, he thought. She never seemed to leave her main command room, and Greg was sure she would be alerted to any outside contact unless something big was occupying her time.

Right now he felt his best option was to wait until the Gem was occupied doing some business with the new mayor some time after the election, though he knew she might call on him to 'interpret' for her then. Still, it seemed like it would be the first, best window of opportunity.

After he and Ronaldo had dropped off their cargo, and brought some finished cots back to the rooms being used as a dormitory, they noticed most of the Townies downing tools. It was time for the candidates' speeches.

In all, three people had put their hats in the ring for the position; Bill Dewey, the incumbent; Nanefua Pizza, who had pushed hardest for the snap election; and Rodney, the wildcard who while untested had actually studied political science.

As most of Beach City filed into the main meeting space, or watched on monitors from overflow rooms, he noticed that only Dewey and Rodney were on the raised 'stage', with Smiley managing the coin flip for the opportunity to speak first. Noticing a friend in the crowd, Greg sidled over.

“Hey, Vidalia. What's the news on Nanefua? Is she bailing on the election?”

The woman just snickered. “Oh, old Nanefua wouldn't miss this for the world, Greg. She has a special surprise for Dewey and Dewey 2: Electric Boogaloo up there.”

Greg frowned, wary. “Is that a good idea? Surprises haven't been really in our favour lately. And if it a surprise, how do you know about it?”

“She's got a lot of the kids on board. And what kids hear, I hear. Besides--” she slugged him in the bicep. “Sometimes you got to risk crashing if you want to fly like a comet, right?”

“Oof. Turning my own songs against me. That's dirty pool, Vidalia.” Still, he had to admit she'd lifted his anxiety some.

On the stage, Dewey stepped forward and cleared his throat. The speeches were about to start.

“My beloved, fellow Beach Citizens. I am humbled and honoured that you are allowing me to stand again for the position of Mayor. I know that in recent days I have not met your expectations, and I recognize that while the strangeness of the situation we find ourselves in may be an explanation, it is not an excuse. 

What I can say is that my love and dedication to Beach City has never faltered, and I have learned from my inadequacies. I have also learned from all of you, and your strengths. You have done astonishing things. Mastering Beach Station's factories and providing each other with the necessities of life. Learning to pilot spaceships. Spaceships! And all of that has been possible because of the unity, the community, that Beach City has fostered for as long as I've lived there, and as long as my father and his father before him have lived there. That community is what I've dedicated most of my life to date to support and strengthen, and what I hope you will allow me to continue to foster into the future.

With all we have achieve so far, we are on the cusp of achieving all our goals. We now have enough food and water, and soon we can have a surplus. Our brave pilots can sail the sea of stars, and I have no doubt will be able to navigate back to Earth in short order. But co-ordinating the ferrying of citizens back to our home planet while ensuring that any who wish to stay here and really make this the hottest tourist draw in two galaxies have the expertise and tools they need to do so, will take someone with a lifetime of experience. I can be that person, if you will trust me one last time.”

There was some scattered applause—enough that Greg was a bit surprised.

“Genuine contrition. That's a rare play in politics,” Priyanka said, as she and her family shuffled over to stand next to Greg. 

“I don't think that 'porkchop' wisdom of yours works when you say it about yourself though, eh Greg?” Vidalia continued to look smug about her secret.

The musician just rolled his eyes.

“I don't think that was more than a third of the people applauding,” Connie noted.

“It's going to be a tough comeback for Dewey, that's for sure,” Greg sighed. “I sympathize with the man, but he did dig this hole.”

They watched as Dewey bowed gratefully and made way for Rodney.

The younger man was clearly nervous, but he cleared his throat and stood up straight as he addressed the crowd.

“Firstly, I'd like to thank Bill Dewey for reminding us all that what is important here is this community—all of you standing here—and less so who sits in the mayor's chair. 

I would also like to thank him for his mentorship. As much as I rib him about his slow adoption of technology, he has given me invaluable insight into how administering a seasonal beachside resort community is quite different than the typical civic administration in my textbooks.

But just as my academic training did not prepare me for the experience of the midsummer tourist rush, I am afraid Bill Dewey's experience has not prepared him for the specific challenges we face today. Specifically, he does not know what questions to ask, so he has been unable to identify the specific problems we need to overcome.”

A discontented murmur travelled through the crowd, and from where he stood Greg could see Dewey nervously loosening his tie. Even Greg could tell that was the prelude to dropping a bomb—like the bridge before a killer guitar solo.

“Fundamentally, this is not just a mayoral election—it is also a referendum on how to approach the problem of getting back to Earth. I have been making inquiries with some of our pilot trainees, about what they have learned about the speed of the cargo craft we have, functional flight time, and their best guess as to where Earth is relative to this station. The estimates are not good.”

As the crowd bubbled with angry and distraught voices, Rodney took a steadying breath.

“The best case scenario is a three-week trip. But to achieve that would require not only our closest estimates of Earth's location to be the right one, but also we would need to disassemble several of the craft we have to add their storage together, in order to carry enough air, food, water and fuel to make the trip non-stop. Even then, I don't think we would be able to transport any passengers. Only the ship's crew would be able to make it to Earth. Mr. Dewey's plan simply will not work.”

“What do you say?” Kofi Pizza's voice barked out. “We did not sleep for weeks when we came here. There must be a faster way!”

Rodney held up his hands in a placating gesture that Greg thought looked remarkably Dewey-like.

“I agree, and the likely answer is the ship that brought us here is more capable than the ships we have,” he explained. “Our craft are small work craft designed to mine within this system and support this station. They were never meant for fast interstellar travel, and especially not to transport humans. In more familiar terms, the challenge we are facing is like. . .” he paused for a moment, lost in thought.

“It is like trying to cross the ocean in one of Beach City's rental pedal boats,” Dewey supplied, downcast.

Rodney smiled, though it was strained. “I was going to say 'drive across the continent in a forklift', but your example is also very strong.”

“I am not going to pretend I have all the answers. None of us have the training or experience to be expected to solve this problem. But, we know who does. This is a Gem problem, so I propose that the best solution is to have Gems solve it. Beach City's self-declared guardians have protected us all from countless strange and supernatural threats. No doubt they are doing, and have been doing, everything in their power to rescue us. But the universe is a huge place, and not knowing where we are to save is a huge barrier.”

“Therefore, I am proposing that if elected mayor, I will spearhead a project to rebuild one of our space ships for long-distance travel, so that a small crew can return to Earth with a message about where we are, so that a rescue can be mounted.”

A much larger noise of approval arose in the crowd, compared to what followed Dewey's speech.

For her part, though, Connie just gritted her teeth in anger and frustration. “We can't just. . . just dump all the responsibility on the Gems and just sit here, twiddling our thumbs! And asking them to charge blind into a situation where enemies may be waiting for them—argh, I hate this plan.”

Rodney stepped away from the podium, then looked around awkwardly. He looked to Dewey, who also shrugged. 

Smiley was just starting to move to the front of the stage to ask if anyone had seen Nanefua, when a heavy, rhythmic clanking could be heard coming from behind a nearby door.

The door hissed open, and into the room strode—STRODE—Nanefua, her strides lengthened by long, conical extensions coloured shades of green in geometric patterns. She wore a tight-fitting body stocking in similar colours, and conical extensions on her arms as well. Her usual tight hair bun had been dyed green to match. 

Mounting the stage in a single step of her lengthened legs, she gestured over the crowd with the bright green, cylindrical 'fingers' that levitated in front of her arm extensions.

“Citizens of Beach City. Young Rodney is correct about a good mayor needing to ask the correct questions to understand problems and their solutions. But he has not asked his questions of the right person.”

Connie gasped. “She's wearing Gem limb enhancers! Where did she get those, and why?” For her own part, Vidalia fought to stifle a cackling laugh.

The crowd was nearly silent as the Pizza matriarch continued.

“Days ago, I formally submitted a request to ask questions to Almandine, whose experiment all this is. She said yes, so I asked my questions. I asked if she would take us home, she said no. I asked what it would take to convince her to do that. She said if we could prove her right, and operate the station properly, she would have no reason to keep us here. So, of course, I ask her if we are not doing that now.”

The elderly woman's gaze swept the crowd.

“She said no! The station is not doing the things it should do, she said. It is only doing what we want. We are not operating, we are only using!”

“Dewey and Rodney mean well, but their plans to get us home involve a lot of hope and finger-crossing. I want more star-crossing than finger-crossing! Almandine has already told us how we can go home. So I say we go all-in! No more pussy-footing around. We run this station just like Gems would. We look like them, talk like them, whatever. And we do it so good, we make Gems look bad at it.”

From the door she'd entered by, four other figures entered the room and climbed onto the stage to flank her. Buck Dewey, Sour Cream, the Pizza twins, and Peedee. All had dyed hair and were wearing coloured body stockings in different shades, and Peedee was outfitted with his own set of limb enhancers. Buck and Kiki were in a dusky red. Sour Cream and Jenny were in greens, with the latter's outfit accented with a white fur ruff at her collar. Peedee's body stocking was ash grey, with a heavy charcoal-coloured apron.

Nanefua crossed her technology-supported arms over her chest. “So I am not just asking for your vote to be mayor. I am asking for your vote to be Mossy Agate.”

Greg's jaw hit the floor, while next to him Vidalia was doubled over, cackling with laughter.


End file.
